THE NEW YORKER table. It read, "We know you will be the most beautiful woman there to- night," and was signed "Hairdressing Dept., Paramount Studios." Dog Star W E dropped around backstage at the Winter Garden, after Satur- day night's performance of the Earl Carroll revue, to interview Red Dust, that surprising dog who makes his en- trance draped like a fur piece around a chorus girl's neck, allows his trainer to tie him into contortionistic knots, does a single handstand (or pawstand) on his trainer's palm, and concludes an eight-minute versatile performance by skipping rope, a stunt which usually gets him the biggest hand in the show. We found him in Dressing Room 7, which he shares with his owner and trainer, Mr. Robert V\Tllliams. He came out from his corner under a table and stood politely while Mr. Williams in- troduced us. "Speak!" we said to him. He just stared. "Shake hands!" we said, to cover our confusion. He smiled at us affably and went back to his cor- ner. His master said he wouldn't do tricks for anybody but him. He doesn't encourage the dog to be friendly with other people-nobody is allowed to pet him, not even Mr. Carroll. Red Dust is now three and a half years old, weighs forty-two pounds, and is, with his thick, reddish-brown coat and curly tail, handsome. He was a eugenic baby; his father was a Malemute, a mascot on an oil tanker, and his mother a chow in a pet shop in San Pedro, California. Both animals were so intelligent and good-looking that the owners mated them, just in the Brisbane-like hope that the children would be twice as bright and handsome. Mr. \Villiams knew the dog-shop people, and was of- fered his choice of the seven resultant pups. As he was looking them over, one little fellow carne up and seized him by the trouser cuff. "It was as though God meant him for me," Mr. Williams told us. Mr. Williams was just twenty-one w hen this providen tiall y arranged meeting took place, and had lived most of his life in Hollywood. He had been a telegraph boy , Naval Reserve sea- man, dancer in talkie musicals, hotel clerk, professional boxer, and lifeguard. Mr. Williams named his pet Cho-Red Dust is a stage name, taken from the title of a Jean Harlow picture-and went back to lifeguarding. About this time, he began training some animals 13 r (\ n iJ G 17 O 0 / : uU01[;!] [1, Off aow n \\ (l/1 /' ' , I1 f \ ( 7-> . which were on exhibition at a pier. Somewhat to his surprise, his amateur- ish efforts resulted in a seal's balancing a volley ball on its nose, and five wild- cats sitting up and begging. It was then that he got the idea of training Cho, and limbering his body like an acrobatic dancer's. It was uphill work. For a month, he did nothing but stretch the baffled animal out flat, stroke him, and murmur "Quiet." Cho finally caught on, and added a quirk of his own: un- curling his tail. Limbering came next -took five months for that. Then they added the pawstands, walking on hind legs, and rope-skipping, and were ready for the stage. The pair live at Long Beach, driving back and forth from work in Mr. Wil- liams' roadster. Red Dust (we'll call him that, because it's a pretty name) gets his one meal of the day right after work: raw eggs, cod-liver oil, and meat. Mr. Williams has minor parts in some of the skits, and during his absence Red Dust sometimes eats things that are ly- ing about-shoestrings or cardboard coffee-containers. Doesn't upset him, though; the only times he has ever missed a performance were once in Chicago, where he got into some rat poison, and another time in Boise, Ida- ho, where he cut his paw. The New York run has progressed smoothly, ex- cept for one awful evening when Red /í) / 'Í 7 / . Dust almost got stepped on by a police- man's horse outside the stage door, and then, just before his entrance on the stage, got into a fight with Minnie, a backstage cat. Went through his act, however, breathing heavily. Mr. Wil- liams has been offered five thousand dollars for Red Dust, but says he wouldn't ever sell him. Right now he's bringing in about six hundred bucks a week. Still More C OOKS and butlers and handy men are still writing notes to their employers, and the employers are still sending them to us. A buxom colored girl, handmaiden to a Mr . Brady, left this message for him: My DEAR MR. BRADY: I t is with very deep regret that I must state that, due to circumstances over which I have no immediate control, it will be most impossible for me to straighten the apartment tomorrow. VIOLA A maid who had spent an unhappy week working at a house in Jersey took leave of her mistress in two debonair sen- tences: DEAR MRS. LOVELL: The trip across the river is too hard for me every day. Sorry to break up the group. GLADYS